


I Was Burning (You're The Only Light)

by pansexualorgana (MaximumMarygold)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fem!Graves, Female Percival Graves, Period Typical Homophobia, Period Typical Transphobia, Time Travel, Titanic AU, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Newt Scamander, With A Twist, its set in 1912 so, period typical bigotry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/pansexualorgana
Summary: "Once Grindelwald casts his spell we won't be able to get home. My fate is locked with yours; it was from the moment we met. You jump, I jump. You go down, I'm right there with you holding your hand. ”“Penelope,” Newt gasped and Graves shushed him gently.“We'll just have to make damn sure we pull this off.”Or they were all going to end up 3,800 feet under.(The Time Travel, Trans!Newt, Fem!Graves, Titanic AU that literally no one saw coming)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> nope im a weirdo just go with it

Newt should have grabbed a jacket before he decided to kill himself. 

It wouldn’t matter in short order, considering he was going to be  _ dead _ , but in the time before it was cold as hell and he really wished he had a jacket since silk was not the warmest of materials and evening gowns were not the warmest of garments -- a warming charm could only do so much when there were snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.

Personally, Newt would have preferred cotton shirts and pants, a nice wool peacoat, perhaps a vest. Gellert demanded silk dresses and sheer, flimsy shawls that did nothing to ward off even the chill from his wine glass, let alone any kind of temperamental weather.

Gellert demanded silk dresses and sheer, flimsy shawls that did nothing to ward off even the chill from his wine glass, let alone any kind of temperamental weather.

They both had their quirks, Newt supposed, not at all kindly.

Not even delving into the numerous issues he had with his body and the way society perceived him because of something as trivial as his  _ parts _ , he had quite the affinity for animals, and painters that no one had ever heard of, and freedom. 

Gellert liked power and he especially liked _using_ it to keep the things he considered his in a gilded cage.

Newt didn’t want to be kept in a cage. He wasn’t made for it.  Newt wanted to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. He wanted to wear pants and cut his hair short and never hear anyone call him ‘ma’am’ again.

It was night - there was no sun. He would really have preferred to go out having seen the morning one more time, but the decks of the Titanic were crowded from dawn til dusk and he couldn’t risk being caught. 

He didn’t want to worry anyone and he didn’t want to cause a scene. He just wanted out. 

Mother meant well, he supposed.

With his father dead and Theseus still away in the war, Newt, being her only ‘daughter’, was the only one left to make sure that they stayed wrapped in the affluence they’d enjoyed his whole life. Which is where Gellert Grindelwald came in - he had money (tons of it), and came from a strong pureblood family with ties to the ministry as far back as their records could go.

Gellert, for his part liked  _ pretty  _ things, as he liked to put it. And Newt was pretty. Curly red hair, a thousand and one freckles spattered across his skin, high cheekbones - high every bone, honestly, he had quite the delicate bone structure according to his mother. 

He was pretty and according to Gellert, pretty things were meant to be collected. Shown off. 

Newt thought they should be allowed to do as they pleased, be damned other’s social demands - he was a person not a prized poodle. But it simply wouldn’t do for Gellert’s wife (even Newt’s brain winced at the word) to be off on some wild animal hunt - _ rescue, Gellert, honestly _ \- in Africa when there were perfectly good millionaires to charm right there in America.

The whole idea made Newt sick, made his decision easier. He wasn’t going to be locked in a cage that not even an  _ Alohamora  _ could unlock. 

His mother had insurance on his life through Gringotts. 

It wouldn’t even look like a suicide-- which would further ruin his family’s reputation after he was caught ‘posing’ as a man to train dragons in the war. 

(How saving several battalions of English troops in the trenches and being the first person to successfully gain an Iron Belly’s trust in several centuries had  _ ruined  _ the Scamander reputation was beyond him, but the way his mother spoke about it you’d think that he had mooned the minister of magic and proceeded to dance naked in The Fountain of Magical Brethren.)

(Which was absolutely preposterous; he’d be more likely to ‘accidentally’ blow the fountain up than dance in it.)

(....He couldn’t actually say that he  _ wouldn’t  _ moon the minister if given even half the chance.)

He was a curious person by nature. He’d just wanted to get a good look at the propellers, his foot slipped, he dropped his wand, and he fell over the railing. It would be a tragic accident.

His family got the money they needed and he never had to be married to a man he didn’t love who only wanted something shiny to put on a shelf instead of a living, breathing person. 

So easy.

The wind swept Newt’s hair into his face.

It smelled of night, and salt, and snow. 

Like freedom.

He wasn’t afraid.

Not as he climbed over the safety rail, not as he looked down at the dark, thrashing waves below him. 

There were creatures in the water, he knew. He’d read books, had seen a scarce few of them on his previous travels.

He wouldn’t be alone down there. 

He just had to let go and he wouldn’t be alone. 

It was so simple. He just had to let-

“Nice night.”

-go.

Newt whipped his head around, his heart in his throat. He wasn’t supposed to be seen - no one was supposed to pay attention to him. He’d practically (literally) made a career of going unnoticed. 

But this woman had seen him.

There was a cigarette hanging from her lips as she approached the railing where Newt still hung, numb fingers locked around the frigid metal, “Not sure you’re getting the full experience, there, though,” she held something out and it took Newt’s brain a few moments to realize that it was a pack of cigarettes.

She was offering Newt a smoke. A woman who smoked - a muggle woman at that. Mother would be appalled.

Newt shook his head mutely.

Shrugging, she slipped the package back into her pocket, “Suit yourself,” she said, leaning forward, her arms bracing her weight on the railing next to the man on the other side, “just figured that you’d need something after all that running you did. Though you’d need to come back over to this side of the railing. You’re not going to jump either way.”

That had Newt’s hackles raising, his teeth grinding together inside his skull until he swore he could feel the vibrations in his actual brain, “And what makes you think you have the right to assume what I’m going to do?” He snapped.

“If you were going to jump you would have done it already,” the stranger said, shrugging out of her jacket, “take this before you actually die of pneumonia.” 

“Go to hell,” Newt had had just about enough of people telling him what to do.

“Been there, done that,” the stranger said, dropping the coat carelessly onto the deck, “besides, I’m involved now. So, I’d really appreciate it if you came back over here because I am not thrilled about having to jump into that water after you if you  _ do  _ scrape up the courage.”

“You’re insane,” Newt spat, “and you don’t have any obligation to me. You don’t know anything about me - you don’t even know my name.”

“What  _ is  _ your name?” Earnest brown eyes set under a severe brow and a secretive smile were not what Newt was expecting to see when he looked over, “I’m Penelope. Graves. Penelope Graves.”

It took a moment for Newt to decide whether or not to humor the woman, “Newt,” he said, finally, “my name is Newt.”

Unexpectedly, the woman, Ms. Graves, started to laugh, “That is the most ridiculous goddamn name I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Startled laughter bubbled out of Newt’s chest because, yeah, he knew that. He liked it. Gellert insisted on calling him Artemis and it grated like nails on a chalkboard, “It is,” he agreed.

Extending her hand again, Ms. Graves smiled tightly around her cigarette, “Come on,  _ Newt _ , let’s get you into something warmer,” she paused, “I might have something that’ll fit you.”

The thought of being squished into more women’s clothing - another dress, another corset; more lace, and silk, and whalebone- made Newt queasy, made his hands shake on the railing, and unbelievably Ms. Graves picked it up immediately, “Or not,” she said, considering Newt’s full frame for a moment, “I’m traveling with some friends who might, however. You look about O'Brien’s size, though his pants may be a little long…”

Surprise flared to life in Newt’s chest and it was that, more than anything that him reaching out and curling his fingers around Ms. Graves’, “Okay,” he said when the woman looked up.

“Okay,” Ms. Graves repeated, smile lighting up her face as she reached out her other hand.

Somewhere between taking Ms. Graves’ hand and turning around to face her -and really she was quite pretty in a very severe, mysterious way that made Newt’s chest do a funny thing - there was a loud snap and what little solid ground Newt had been standing on seemed to crumble into nothing.

The heel of his  _ blasted, bloody, impractical _ shoe had snapped.

Ms. Graves’ held fast, a gasp escaping her lips before she grit her teeth and tightened her grip, “Hold on!” she said, like Newt could do anything else in that moment. “I’m not letting you go!”

Kicking both shoes off, the dull splash they made in the water below making his hair stand on end, Newt managed to scramble up the side of the ship like he was climbing a tree or scampering up a wall after a group of pixies, launching off the railing and into Ms. Graves’ arms with a relieved cry. 

There were tears on his cheeks, drying quickly in the cold air, and Ms. Graves was amazingly warm below him, when he leaned up on his elbows to thank her, his undone hair bracketing them both like a curtain.

She was breathing hard, blinking up at him with dark, startled eyes, before she grinned up at him, “I told you that you weren’t going to jump,” she said softly, almost fondly.

Newt started to laugh.

Someone gripped his arm tight, pulling him to his feet roughly and settling large hands possessively on his bare shoulders, “Darling,” Gellert purred, “are you alright? What happened?”

Looking around dumbly, Newt watched as one of Gellert’s cronies - _ friends _ , sorry- pulled Ms. Graves to her feet and looked from her discarded jacket to the rumpled state they were both in - Newt’s wild hair and missing shoes coming into sharp focus.

It couldn’t look good.

“I slipped,” he said quickly, remembering his cover story, “I was trying to look at the propellers and I… I thought I saw a dolphin, so I leaned over more to get a better look and I slipped. I would have gone right overboard had Ms. Graves not been here.” 

Gellert turned beady eyes to Ms. Graves, who had wrenched her arm away from the man who held her with a snarl and was collecting her jacket, “You slipped, but she had time to remove her coat?”

“She had given it to me,” Newt thought quickly, “I’d forgotten mine back in the cabin and it’s really quite cold out here. It was wrapped around my shoulders and when I slipped it fell free,” squaring his chin and meeting his fiance’s eyes, Newt raised both eyebrows, “Is this the normal procedure for saving your intended’s life?” He asked tersely, “Manhandling and an interrogation?”

Though he didn’t look happy about it, Gellert turned to Graves, “I suppose I owe you my thanks, Ms. Groves.”

Newt twitched.

“It’s Graves, actually,” she smiled coldly back, “and I suppose you do. It was quite a pleasure getting to meet Newt, however, so it was no trouble. Perhaps a pair of binoculars would do you good,” she was addressing Newt, then, her smile much more genuine, “then you won’t have to lean so far over to see the dolphins.”

Newt couldn’t help his own smile, “That’s an excellent idea… Penelope,” he said, hoping he hadn’t crossed a line, “thank you.”

“Thank you for the company,” she turned to Gellert, “not so much you.”

Gellert stepped forward, “You little-”

Newt stepped between them, “Penelope, why don’t you join us for dinner tomorrow night on deck one?”

Dark eyes flicking between Newt and Gellert, Penelope allowed her smile to turn a little mischievous, “I’d  _ love  _ to join you for dinner, Newt.”

“ _ Artemis _ ,” Gellert tried to protest and Newt winced.

“She saved my life, darling,” he cooed, “it’s the least we can do.”

* * *

 

**_Penelope_ **

She’d given the man on the deck her real name. She’d accepted his invitation to  _ dinner _ . 

Jesus fucking Christ, Penelope. Saving his life was one thing, but getting  _ involved  _ was an entire separate ballgame. Christ, it wasn’t even the same sport. She was officially playing with  _ pucks,  _ now, not even balls.

Which Tina made sure to inform her while transfiguring a hair brush into a delicate clip to keep Graves’ gray streaked hair back from her face. She felt a little silly in the fashions of the time - - they wouldn’t let her wear black, apparently that was for  _ mourning _ and Seraphina had not enjoyed the part of the meeting where Graves pointed out that she was mourning… mourning the loss of the collective sanity of MACUSA-- and she ended up in pale blue number with white lacing across the bodice.

“I am still your boss, Anthony,” she hissed as O’Brien glanced her over appreciatively, “ridiculous costume or no.” She was already mentally planning his month long demotion to wand permits the very second they were back in the right century. 

“You don’t look ridiculous,” Tina admonished softly, tugging on a strand of hair before backing away from her director with a satisfied nod, “Now go, take a walk. See if you can find Hydrangea Upkey and we can be out of here before breakfast. I’ll take deck two, O’Brien will be on deck one.”

Graves didn’t point out that, no matter what, they were going to be home roughly eight seconds after they had left the Woolworth building because  _ time travel _ , but it was a close call. She didn’t need to be a prickly bastard to her best auror just because she was fairly sure her ribs were being very slowly disintegrated beneath the corset she’d been laced into. 

Mercy Lewis, the women of the early nineteenth century had to put up with some shit. The women and Newt. After a moment of hesitation and a bit of wandless magic she summoned a pair of O'Brien’s pants and one of his shirts to her and shrunk them down until they fit in her clutch.

“Are those my-”

“For Newt, in case I see him,” Graves said bluntly, never one to candy coat her words, “I’ll buy you a new suit when we get back home.” She wrinkled her nose at his rumpled shirt and askew tie, “A good one.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” 

Graves didn’t grace that with an answer, instead turning towards the mirror and pursing her lips and deciding she maybe didn’t look  _ horrible _ , even if she was definitely not a fan of the clothing options. And she had the benefit of  _ Tarte  _ concealer and mascara that made her eyes look three times their actual size -- from the neck up she at least felt normal.

She just needed to figure out where to hide her  _ wand _ . 

Tina held up a leather thigh holster. 

Ah.

That was where.

 

The first class deck was opulent, gilded golds and reds, colors that made the part of Graves that would always be a Wampus at heart relax. She could do this. She just needed to find Hydrangea Upkey and-

“Penelope,” Newt’s voice was warm and as he glanced to her from where he was standing by the railing  _ again _ , though thankfully on the correct side of it this go around, “good morning.”

Against her better judgment, Graves gravitated towards Newt like a niffler to a penny. She had a job to do, it wasn’t like her to get so easily sidetracked but… but Newt was smiling so hesitantly, refusing to meet her eyes. Like he was sure Graves was going to blow him off and carry on her way.

She couldn’t do that to him.

“Newt,” she greeted, smiling so widely that her cheeks almost ached. 

She was a reserved person, the youngest person to ever be appointed as the Director Of Magical Security at MACUSA, let alone the youngest  _ woman _ . She had a layer of professionalism that she wore like battle armor, dropping it when inside of her office with her aurors and redoning it the second she stepped back into the real world.

Newt, though, Newt deserved her at her realest. Not Madam Director, not Ms. Graves, not even Penelope. 

“Call me Penny, please,” she said as she reached the railing and settled her own hands perhaps a tad too close to Newt’s.

He was in another dress, this one green, contrasting perfectly with his red hair and pale skin. This close, Graves could see freckles spattered across his skin like constellations. Like snowflakes.

“Penny,” Newt repeated, testing the name out, “alright. Good morning, Penny.”

Laughing quietly and ducking her head, Graves looked out at the wide expanse of the ocean, glowing, calm, and deep, deep blue, “Good morning, Newt. Did you sleep well?” She knew it was a dumb question the second it left her lips.

Next to her, bathed in golden, early morning sunlight,  Newt stiffened, “As well as could be expected.”

_ Shit _ , “Listen,” Graves turned to face him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, “I didn’t mean to…” she broke off, swearing viciously under her breath, “I’m not very good with small talk. Or. People. Like, in general.” If she wasn’t ordering them around she just had no idea what to do with them.

Newt’s eyes were the only thing that moved, swiveling to the side to consider Graves quietly, “Me neither,” he admitted, “people think I’m odd.”

Huffing out another laugh, Graves bumped their shoulders together gently, “Still better than me,” she admitted, “people like to call me a bitch.” Among other things.

It had stopped bothering her a long time ago; Newt, however, was adorably, endearngly scandalized. 

“They call you  _ what _ ?” 

Waving a hand dismissively, Graves tilted her head back and let the sun warm her face, “They’re not entirely wrong,” she admitted, “I have had to be rather unpleasant for people to take me seriously. I’m rather important in my field.” 

“What is it exactly you do, Penny?” 

“Security,” looking to the side Graves watched Newt’s eyes widen, “what about you?” She asked, “What interests you, Newt?”

“Animals,” he answered immediately, “I always wished to be a zoologist but…” 

But women of the early 20th century were barely considered people, and while Newt was not a woman..., “Societal limitations,” Graves nodded sagely, “well, if it’s any consolation I’m sure you’d make an  _ excellent  _ zoologist.”

Newt pulled in a shuddering breath before turning to face Graves completely, their eyes bright and excited but their shoulders squared and tense, “May I show you a secret?”

The Secret, being that inside Newt’s outrageously large stateroom, was a box of journals, meticulously kept and bound in soft, soft leather. The handwriting was immaculate, and the subject matter - the subject matter was another thing all together.

Animals of every kind - mammals, amphibians, reptiles, and there, before Newt could slam the book shut and mumble a hasty excuse about that one being personal, Graves glimpsed a perfectly rendered, lifelike  _ hippogriff _ .

“You’re very thorough in your observations,” Graves managed to note between the surprise shooting through her veins like heroin - Newt Scamander was a wizard.

“Well, that’s the whole point isn’t it?” Newt asked, arms wrapping around his middle like he was trying to shield himself from whatever she was going to say next.

It made Graves wonder who had made Newt feel like what he loved was stupid - and it made her want to hex them into next week.

“It’s  _ extraordinary _ ,” she assured him, turning the page and dragging her fingers across a sketch of a tiger shark, of all things, reverently. She could hardly imagine the research Newt had to do to get so much information, to capture such an accurate rendering.

The magical journals had to be  _ wonderful _ . 

“Really,” she said, looking up to meet Newt’s brilliant eyes, “this is amazing, Newt, you’re a marvel. I don’t think enough people tell you that, but this is… it’s incredible.”

* * *

 

**_Newt_ **

Showing Penelope his journals was risky - they included drawings, photographs, detailed accounts of his excursions and he thanked his foresight to keep his muggle and magical adventures separate from each other. He didn’t feel like being arrested for breaking the code of secrecy, even if it was to share the part of himself he was most proud of with the only person on earth who had bothered to listen.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been arrested, but still. It wasn’t like he went out looking for laws to break. 

Still, it would have been worth it had she accidentally seen the page with the hippogriff.

Penelope’s fingers caressed the pages carefully, eyes continuing every word as a small smile played on her face - brighter, more open than the ones she’d smiled the night before on deck, “You have lovely handwriting, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt was reasonably sure that for an excruciatingly long moment his heart actually stopped, “What?” he asked, panicked, “why would you-”

The book was discarded in a second -though not carelessly- and Penelope was gripping him by his shoulders the next, her eyes soft, grounding. Until his breathing evened out again.

“I have a friend like you,” she whispered softly, one hand reaching up to card through his loose hair, “she goes the other way, though. She was raised male. Her name is Allison and we love her dearly where I work.”

“Like me?” He asked, because no, no that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t right. He was - he was broken. 

“Just like you,” Penelope promised him, “you’re not alone, Newt. There’s nothing wrong with you.” She paused, studying him carefully, “I will not tell anyone of your preferences, I just thought it would be nice for someone on this godforsaken boat to call you what you are when it is just us.”

Slowly, as she spoke quietly to him like he would to one of his frightened animals, Newt’s spine relaxed even as his eyes burned, “You-” He’d never told anyone, aside from Theseus, when they’d been in the war together, when his brother had realized that this was more than Newt pretending to be able to help.

“Like I said,” Penelope said patiently, “I have a friend.” A pause, “Why on earth would you pick the name  _ Newt _ , though?”

A wet, startled laugh forced itself from Newt’s throat and he leant against Penelope’s shoulder unabashedly. He’d never had a real friend before, but he was pretty sure that casual physical contact was part of it. 

It was for the occamies and the niffler anyways. “My full name is Artemis Newton Fido Scamander.”

“My full name is Artemis Newton Fido Scamander.”

“Artemis is the Greek goddess of the hunt,” Penelope mused before Newt felt her tilt her head down, the long flow of her hair tickling Newt’s cheek, “You’re right,” she said after a moment, “Newt suits you much better.”

“You’re the only person to ever tell me that,” Newt admitted softly, “besides my brother.”

“People are dumb assholes, what can I say?” The woman shrugged, and Newt sniffled something that could have been a confirmation had he been capable of anything more than tucking his head more firmly against Penelope’s shoulder.

Her perfume was sweet, almost like candy. Newt decided he liked it. It was better than any of the overly complicated, floral things his mother and Gellert insisted on buying for him.

“Why are you here, Penny?” He asked after a few long moments.

“Traveling to America,” she said like it was obvious, “same as you.”

“I meant here with me, surely you could be doing better things. You’re traveling with someone, aren’t you? O’Brien?”

“Anthony O’Brien and Tina Goldstein,” Penelope agreed easily, shifting to make them both more comfortable on the spacious couch and folding her legs awkwardly, like she was as uncomfortable in the dress as Newt himself.

The stateroom was enormous, almost as large as his bedroom back home, there had really been no need for them to be sitting so closely together. But…

Once she was seated more on her knees than anything, Penelope continued speaking, “They can entertain themselves for an afternoon. In fact they have work they can be doing.”

Yet again, Newt wondered what exactly it was that Penelope Graves did - she was apparently staying in second class, though she fit into first as easily as if she were born there. Her clothes were in style, her hair immaculate, and galloping Griffins what in the world did a Muggle woman use to get her eyelashes so  _ long _ ?

“You don’t have work to be doing?” Newt asked.

“I’d rather be here,” Penelope shrugged, “besides, I’m afraid I’m going to have to use our dinner tonight to do a little work. Do you happen to know a Hydrangea Upkey? She does some fantastic work but I have a few questions on-”

The shock felt corporeal, like electricity was actually buzzing through his skin as Newt flung himself backward, “ _ You’re a witch _ ?” he asked, incredulous. 

All this time he’s been treating her like a muggle. 

“I had the same reaction when I saw your hippogriff,” Penelope said, her laugh quiet but honest, “I’m just trained to reign it in. I thought you were a no-maj,” she admitted.

“Bloody hell,” Newt breathed, then he stood, so suddenly he almost toppled Penelope right off of the sofa, excitment buzzing just under his skin, making his hair stand on end, “Can I show you something else?” 

She liked his journals - she called them extraordinary, amazing. She thought what he did was amazing. She cared about what he cared about - about  _ him _ . If he didn’t show her right then he would probably never show another living person who might possibly share his enthusiasm.

“Of course,” Penelope blinked in surprise, carefully uncurling herself and rising to her feet “you can show me anything you like, Newt.”

So he did - he took her hand and led her to the corner of the room, studying her face carefully --her intense eyes, her bitten red lips, her soft expression-- and unlocked his case.

The mooncalves were Penelope’s favorite, tears springing to her eyes then hastily wiped away as they nudged at her hands for treats and pets. The idea that something so sweet, so pure, so  _ good _ lived in the darkness all the time, she said, was something that was almost cathartic in her line of work (though she still didn’t say what that was besides being a director of  _ something _ .)

(Oh, Merlin, what if he was falling in love with a mob boss.)

(... what if he was falling in love, in general?)

“I was wrong,” Penelope whispered, a wonder in her voice that made Newt’s spine turn to jelly as a bowtruckle made its way through the woman’s hair and the niffler inspected the earring she had given it with vigor, “you’re not going to make a wonderful zoologist,” Newt’s heart dropped, “you already are one.”

And then it soared. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the dead*
> 
> y'all.
> 
> its been a week.

Changing multiple times a day was a tiresome and completely unnecessary tradition; Graves' blue dress was perfectly acceptable for basically any occasion unless someone decided to get _married_ at dinner, but Tina insisted that they try to blend in. Graves sorely missed her old, worn Ilvermorny hoodie and the fuzzy socks she would never admit to owning.

Newt saw her before she saw him, “You made it,” he sounded genuinely pleased, the exact opposite of the man standing behind him.

In the light, without the adrenaline of having saved Newt to cloud her mind, Graves’ heart nearly stopped beating in her chest. The man who Newt -- sweet, good, Newt with his freckles and his dimples and his heart that was three times too large for his chest -- was supposedly betrothed to was someone Graves recognized from textbooks, and old auror files, and not for any reason that could be considered  _ good _ .

Standing tall and proud next to Newt’s shorter, shyer frame, was Gellert Goddamn- _Motherfucking_ Grindelwald - a dark wizard who would go on to murder thousands of muggles and magical creatures in the coming years and he was just…  _ there _ , looking innocent as can be, his hand on the small of Newt’s back.

“I said I would,” she said, despite her growing urge to rip the side of her dress up to her hip, grab her wand, and execute Grindelwald on the spot, “I always keep my promises, Newt.” Someone so dark being allowed to exist in the same world as someone like Newt, who had laughed with her moments after nearly dying and had spent the afternoon showing her journal after journal of the things he loved the most in the world, then took her into his _world-_

She could save so many lives. Stop so many massacres. Riots. Revolts. It was 1912, Grindelwald didn’t have a large, equally Machiavellian following until the early twenties. She could end the war before it even started if not for-

If not for the endless warnings of the terrible things that happened when wizards meddled with time, as Ms. Granger from the MOM had told many a student seeking an accelerated course (carefully leaving out the fact that she had, in fact, used time travel to save Sirus Black in the 90's). The saving grace in the current situation was that they had gone back over a century and couldn’t possibly run into themselves and ruin everything - but killing someone was a rather large butterfly to step on.

MACUSA was only aboard for information.  Hydrangea Upkey died in the sinking of the Titanic on its maiden voyage in 1912-- It was just as well that in 2017, several aurors were splashed with a potion identified as an unnamed creation by the renown master. It was a.... devastating potion. Screams rang in Graves' head when she closed her eyes. Sheer dumb luck and a conveniently placed crate had been the only thing to save her from getting a face full of the stuff.

There was also no recorded antidote since Upkey hadn't had the time to document all of her findings before... before the ship...

Dizziness swept over Graves so suddenly that she had to reach out and grasp Newt’s shoulder just to stay upright. 

The ship was going to  _ sink _ \- it was considered one of the greatest tragedies in Muggle history. It would collide with an iceberg, it would sink, and people would...would  _ die  _ because there weren’t enough lifeboats. Because they had arrogantly declared the ship unsinkable and the boats superfluous. 

More than half the people on the ship were going to die. Newt could… Newt could very well die. 

_ Grindelwald survived though, _ Graves thought bitterly as she righted herself and apologized, claiming she was unused to boat travel with a saccharine smile that she knew no one believed,  _ how could he have survived when Newt hadn’t _ .

Unless - unless Newt  _ did _ . Maybe Newt got out in time, got to one of the lifeboats, sequestered between the women and the children that he wasn’t but what, in that moment, would save him.

_ Maybe _ -

“Ah, Mrs. Upkey,” Grindelwald spoke and Graves straightened like a steel rod had been jammed into her spine, “delighted you could join us this evening.”

Hydrangea Upkey was a portly woman, with rosy cheeks and a heinous purple hat but a smile that was genuinely kind as she shook Newt’s hand and was openly distrustful as Grindelwald bent to kiss hers in greeting.

“Mr. Grindelwald,” she said, “and Little Newt! You’ve grown so tall!”

Newt laughed, a real one that warmed Graves’ stomach and froze her blood all at the same time.

_ Please don’t let him die _ . 

“Hydrangea,” he greeted, clearly familiar with the woman, “have you met Ms. Graves?” He looked towards Penelope, holding out a hand for her to take and tugging her forward, “She saved me from falling over the edge of the ship after our card game last night.”

Hydrangea gasped, one gloved hand covering her mouth, “Dear! Why were you leaning over the rail in the first place?”

Newt shifted a little guiltily. Obviously the real answer was not going to be revealed, that was something that was going to stay between them (as well as Tina and O'Brien but that was another matter to bring up at another time), “I wanted to see the propellers,” he said, playing sheepish well enough that had Graves not been there she probably would have believed him, “and then I thought I saw a dolphin -I'd never seen one in real life before!. When I leant over further to get a better look, I slipped. Penny saved me.”

“Well, Ms. Graves, I am very glad you were around to save our little Newt, she's a gem,” Upkey said warmly and Graves tried not to cringe; the woman didn't mean harm and obviously thought of Newt very fondly but it was still hard to hear. It had to be worse for Newt, but he just appeared a little tense; like he'd accepted this as his life a long time ago.

“So I've learned rather quickly,” Graves responded with her most polite smile. She needed an opening to bring up Upkey’s work. If she couldn’t get the information she needed they were sunk - pun really, really unfortunate and not at all intended. “I’ve also been quite interested in your work with complex potion making, Mrs. Upkey” she said after a moment, deciding to just bite the bullet - no one who would hear her was a no-maj at any rate, “my sister understands it better than I do, but it’s impressive enough that even I was enthralled.” 

Beside her, Newt sucked in a quiet breath.

Upkey lit up, her smile broadening until Graves could see that there was a smudge of vibrantly pink lipstick on one of her front teeth, “My  _ dear _ ,” she breathed, delighted, “do you have any idea how long it’s been since someone hasn’t assumed it was my husband doing all the work?”

Ugh. Misogyny - it made Graves hands curl into fists, “Far too long,” she said earnestly.

“It’s too dangerous a field for a woman,” Grindelwald sighed like it was a conversation he’d had a million times - Graves wanted to hex him - , “that’s why I’m so glad my Newt here is going to be working in the ministry. Misuse of No-Maj Artifacts, wasn’t it darling?”

_ Screw hexing, Graves really wanted to  _ **_punch_ ** _ him, wand be damned _ .

Newt stayed quiet. His jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth around what would undoubtedly have been a scathing retort. He’d proven to have quite the sharp tongue when he wasn’t otherwise occupied pretending to be someone he wasn’t for the sake of other’s comfort.

Graves hummed, her smile wicked, “It is the twentieth century, Mr. Grindelwald-”

“Call me Gellert, please,” he interrupted.

“ _ Mr. Grindelwald _ ,” she emphasized, baring all of her teeth, “surely you can’t impose such archaic values on someone as brilliant as Newt. There so much potential there that would be wasted sitting behind a desk.”

Grindelwald bristled.

Graves preened.

Upkey cackled brilliantly behind one gloved hand, “Oh,” she said, “I like you very much. What did you say your name was again, dear?”

“Penelope Graves,” she replied, “you and Newt may call me Penny,” she locked eyes with Grindelwald, “you shouldn’t talk to me at all, but if you must it is to be as Ms. Graves or Madam Director, have I made myself  _ quite  _ clear?” She met his eyes, refusing to flinch at the hostility she saw.

She’d stared down dark wizards before and would again.

He was nothing special.

Gellert Grindelwald was, however, apparently not a man who was used to being talked back to, especially not by a woman (she was going to start doing shots whenever she had to resist the urge to yell at someone about the sheer  _ misogyny  _ in the 20th century) and Graves held the sneer on her face until he looked away.

Then she could lean back smugly and sneak a wink to Newt who was staring at her with wide, wide eyes.

“I  _ really  _ like you,” Upkey said, linking her arm with Graves’; in the spirit of the mission, she allowed it, “Newt, darling, why don’t we go grab ourselves a drink, hm?”

Blinking owlishly, Newt looked between the two women before his smile returned brilliantly and he stepped away from Grindelwald’s hold without a glance back to glimpse the absolutely furious expression on the other wizard’s face, “I could use some wine,” he agreed, taking Graves’ outstretched hand and squeezing hard, “and I’d also love to hear about your potions, Hydrangea, don’t you have a book coming out soon?”

“I do!” Upkey gasped enthusiastically as she led them away from Grindelwald and the eyes Graves could feel boring into her back, “And what about you and those wonderful animals of yours? I hear from Petal Patil that you’ve managed to rescue a  _ nundu _ ?”

Newt’s cheeks flushed - it was a good look on him, “That is true,” he admitted, “she’s down in the case as we speak,” his eyes found Graves as Upkey snagged an impeccably dressed waiter with a tray of red wine, “she took a liking to Penny, actually.”

Snorting rather indelicately into her newly acquired glass of merlot, Graves shrugged one shoulder, “I’ve always had a thing for cats,” she said wryly.

“So you rescue both no-maj and magical creatures?” Upkey asked, perching herself into a plush chair and assuming her companions would follow her lead.

Newt nodded, tucking one loose lock of hair behind his ear, “I do. But I only keep the magical ones in the case. The muggle ones are handed over to the proper authorities. There aren’t, however,  _ any  _ laws surrounding the conservation of magical creatures.”

In 1912? No, there weren’t, Graves realized. 

“You’re the first of your kind,” she said, smiling widely up at Upkey who should really have been her focus, but… goddamn it if Newt wasn’t a captivating little shit, “Little Newt my  _ ass _ ,” that earned her a hearty laugh, “It would seem I am in the presence of two geniuses,” she teased.

“Oh, hardly,” Upkey waved her hand while Newt just rolled his eyes.

“Ignore her,” he said, “she seems to think very highly of everyone she meets,” a pause, “almost.”

“I do not!” Graves almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it; if her aurors could hear someone say that they would have laughed themselves into puddles on the overly polished wood floor, “I actually tend to think rather poorly of most people,” she admitted, “but you, Scamander, are a brilliant, accomplished zoologist trying to pave a brand new path that no one before you has even thought of,” even up into the 20’s the standard procedure was extermination, “and Mrs. Upkey is one of the leading potions masters in the  _ world _ .” She could have stopped there, she should have, honestly, but fuck it it wasn’t even her century, “Plus, we both think your fiance is a  _ prat _ .”

Upkey raised her glass, “Amen to that.”

Newt’s nose twisted in disdain, “Yes, well, my mother likes him. That’s really what matters, isn’t it?”

“No.” Both Upkey and Graves answered at the same time.

“What matters is your happiness, love,” Upkey said softly, reaching over to cover both Newt’s hands with one of hers. “If you don’t love that man with all of your heart you kick him to the curb faster than a niffler with a penny.”

“I-” Newt broke off, looking at something over Graves’ shoulder, “I was wondering about your use of both aconite and acromantula venom in your potions!” He said quickly, kicking Graves gently under the desk.

He hadn’t needed to - she could feel the dangerous look Grindelwald was giving her as he approached. She was seated to Newt’s right, sandwiching him between herself and Upkey, and she wasn’t planning on moving. 

“I had wondered about that as well,” Graves said calmly, like she wasn’t being murdered with Grindelwald’s eyes, “Newt and I were discussing it this afternoon. Both substances are poisonous, obviously, but that particular potion  _ also  _ contains belladonna and armadillo bile - wouldn’t that react negatively with the already extremely volatile formula?”

“And the re’em blood!” Newt added, “It enhances strength in those who take it, but-”

“This potion is not for drinking, dear,” Upkey shook her head, as the first course was brought out - caviar, of course-  “You see, it went something like this. I had gotten my hands on some acromantula venom, but there’s not much use for the stuff. I figured I could use it as weed killer - it flat out murdered my entire garden.”

That wasn’t surprising.

“So,” Upkey continued, spreading fish eggs on a cracker while Graves politely declined and sipped her wine slowly, “I figured I could temper it out with a little armadillo bile.  _ That  _ was a disaster at first, and my poor niece ended up with boils the size of Saturn when some of it splashed on her hands,” both Graves and Newt winced in sympathy, the latters fingers twitching against the skin of Graves’ knuckles, “then I realized that if you stirred it fourteen times clockwise and  _ once  _ counterclockwise it would get rid of the boils and the weeds, but the smell would make you hallucinate something fierce.”

“And I thought my Tuesdays were crazy,” Graves mumbled directly into Newt’s ear, grinning cheekily when she was rewarded with a snort of laughter for her troubles.

“That just couldn’t do,” the whole table was listening now, attention rapt on Upkey as she waved her hands around, as much a showman as she was a potions master, “I added dandelion root and the aconite for the hallucinations. It became  _ acidic _ .” She shook her head, her purple hat swaying dangerously, “Ate through my cauldron, my kitchen table, and partway through my floor.”

“So the Belladonna was to try and help the acidity,” Newt said, thinking out loud, “but instead…”

“Instead,” Upkey winced, “it turned into a sort of… liquid fiend fire. With… side effects.” 

Graves heartbeat skyrocketed. This is what they were there for. The potion in question, the liquid fiend fire, it had been used by the stray death eaters. Three of her aurors were still in the hospital with burns, legilimens on a rotation and a constant influx of calming draughts as their burns healed. Tina’s sister, Queenie, had been helping with the  _ side effects _ .

“What kind of side effects?” Gindelwald asked and of course,  _ of course _ , that was the part he was interested in, the part that could hurt people.

“Well, obviously it doesn’t act as a flame,” Upkey explained, “it’s a liquid, so it’s more accurately described as fiend  _ lava  _ but that doesn’t have the same alliterative ring, does it?” A few people gathered around the table chuckled, “Anyways, I think it’s the acromantula venom combining with the aconite, but what it does is…. Well, it burns, obviously. It destroys everything it touches. But it also tends to… how to put this,” she bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable, “it makes itself a  _ home  _ in the organisms it comes into contact with that doesn’t immediately disintegrate. Like a fungus.”

Pain welled up in the palms of Graves’ hands and it was with a small bite of surprise that she realized she’d been clenching her fists so hard that she’d drawn blood. She quickly wiped her hands on her dress to hide it, glad she’d worn a dark navy number that would hide the red smears well.

She’d seen it all first hand. Her aurors, screaming, burning from the inside out. Their eyes, their  _ veins  _ glowing like someone had lit a furnace under their skin. Like when children put their fingers over the bulb of a flashlight to watch their skin illuminate but malevolent, violent. 

“How do you fix it?” Graves spoke, finally, her throat feeling raw, “When someone gets infected with this how do you  _ fix it _ .” It came out too intense but she didn't care. She needed to know like she needed to breathe.

They were running out of time, back home, they were screaming. Always, always screaming. Drinking calming draught after calming draught until the healers took a page from the no-maj doctors and started funneling it straight into their neon veins and still they screamed. Until their throats were raw, until no sound could come out, their mouths still gaping open. Still in pain.

“I don’t know,” Upkey said, eyeing Graves strangely, searchingly, “I haven’t discovered the antidote.”

It took a great deal of self-control to keep sitting there, while small talk went on and on, while people prattled about their useless money. Money wasn’t saving her Aurors. Money wasn’t stopping the dark wizards from playing with things they can’t control.

Money wasn’t helping- Money was the  _ reason _ . There weren’t enough boats because of pure human vanity and the desire for more  _ money.  _ They were going to push the ship too fast to make headlines and  _ money _ . They would hit an iceberg, because a ship that large going that fast wouldn’t have time for evasive maneuvers and where would their goddamn money be then?

At the bottom of the ocean. With everything else. With Newt. 

Under the table, Newt took her hand and with a sudden, vivid clarity, Graves knew exactly what she had to do.

The RMS _Titanic_ was not going to sink.

It couldn’t.

She wouldn’t  _ fucking  _ let it.

She was Penelope Amalthea Graves and when she said no, people listened. The very stars would realign themselves at her whim. Time itself was going to tremble in her wake - only if for a night. 

With a fresh bout of determination, she squeezed Newt’s fingers back.

**_Newt_ **

“What exactly is it that you do, Ms. Graves?” Gellert asked and Newt’s hands, one of which was still tangled with Penelope’s, started to shake. 

He’d heard that tone, more than once; directed and him, at the people who worked for -worshiped- Gellert and his pure blood rhetoric. It was polite to a fault, crisp, to the point. Dangerous.

Penelope didn’t falter, raising her wine glass to her lips and raising her eyebrows sardonically; she’d been quiet, since their discussion with Hydrangea; thoughtful, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth between calculated bites of her dinner, “Do?” She asked, “I thought it was your belief that women shouldn’t  _ do  _ much of anything, Mr. Gindelwald?” 

Gellert’s smile sharpened, “My beliefs mean very little to you, as you’ve already proven. So please,  _ regale  _ us.”

The table was interested now, as Penelope set her glass back down and carefully dabbed at her mouth with a napkin - the fabric came back stained blood red with her lipstick, “I’m the security director for a fairly large firm upstate,” she answered vaguely.

The rippling interest was so thick Newt could feel it on his skin and he hid a smile behind his own wine, suddenly unsure of why he’d been worried at all. Penelope had met his nundu without a flinch and had her settled in her lap hardly five minutes later. 

“Director?” Asked Alexander Omxius, and Newt’s nose wrinkled; he’d never liked that man, “They let a woman handle such an important job?” 

Laughing, loud and indelicate, Penelope shook her head, “Let? Hardly!” she said, “Honestly, sir, do you think everyone is as luck as you to be born with a silver wand dangling from their fingers?” She tilted her head curiously, “I graduated top of my class from Ilvermorny. I worked in the ministry for a good couple of years, then branched off to direct for this firm. My accomplishments therein take up several feet of parchment.”

“My family is well off, don’t get me wrong, but I do not accept help from them, even should I need it, which I can assure you I do  _ not _ . I am a damn good witch, and an even better person. I am good at what I do. No one has ever _let_ me do anything, Mr. Omxius. No one has ever had to.” 

Other than her narrowed eyes and the fact that Newt was reasonably sure that he’d lost all of the circulation in his fingers, she’d given no indication that she was anything but relaxed, reading off a prepared speech in front of her peers, rather than defending herself to a den of hungry lions. For the first time since Newt had met her, she wasn’t Penny, with the warm smile, she was Director Penelope Graves.

And, Merlin was she beautiful; the sly bow of her mouth, the sweep of her hair, the subtle touch of silver that graced her temples, the bright intelligence behind her eyes.

It wasn’t a new thought, Newt had noticed practically every time he’d looked at her that she was lovely. But in lamp light, those eyes on fire as she commanded the room with an ease that came with being in charge  _ often _ , Newt couldn’t look away. He was sure his mouth was hanging open unattractively as he gawped, and he was distinctly put out that his mother had made him leave Pickett back in his rooms, then at least he’d have someone to close his jaw for him.

And she wasn’t even done.

“Some people,” she continued, voice deadly soft even as she casually swiped her finger through some of the whipped topping of her dessert, “have to take what they can, and make it count.” And then she popped the finger into her mouth as Hydrangea began to clap.

“Well said, Penny, dear,” the older woman said, smile bright. 

Newt couldn’t agree more. 

“To making it count,” he said, lifting his glass and grinning at the surprise on Penelope’s face, “and being damn good at what you do.”

Gellert was absolutely livid and Newt found that, for the first time, he wasn’t afraid, “Darling-” he objected and Newt ignored him.

“ _ Damn  _ good,” he repeated as he clinked his glass gently against Penelope’s with a smile so large he felt that it might encompass him completely.

Penelope smiled back at him, the kind of smile that Newt felt may have been just for him. The kind that made him feel like no one else was on the entire planet, except for the two of them, and it would never be lonely at all because who else did they need?

Soon after, and far too soon for Newt who had become far too accustomed to the warmth of Penelope’s hand wrapped around his, the witch rose to her feet, handing something discreetly back to Hydrangea, who winked back with a quiet giggle.

“So soon?” Newt asked, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Alas,” Penelope said lightly, grasping Newt’s hand again and bringing it to her lips, “my carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. You know how fickle fairy godmother’s can be.” 

Newt giggled and as the dark haired witch stood, she slipped something into Newt’s hand. Paper, by the feel of it. 

“Bibbity, bobbity boo,” Penelope whispered with a wink, before turning to address Hydrangea, “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Upkey, I hope we cross paths again.”

“I’m sure we will, dear! I’ve been looking for a reason to venture to the lower decks for days.”

Newt spent a little too long staring at Penelope’s retreating back; she’d forgone a corset and left her hair mostly unbound and the resulting silhouette was more than a tad captivating. Then he remembered the note and looked down. 

**_Take what you need and make it count._ **

**_My cabin at your earliest convenience._ **

**_-P_ **

Newt clutched the note to his chest and waited for Gellert to leave to ‘talk shop’ with the captain and his fellows before hopping up from the table and bidding goodbye to his mother as well as Hydrangea and her too knowing smile. 

He had to feed his animals before he made his way down to second class. He ended up bringing a newly hatched occamy with him, along with Pickett who caught a ride in his hair. His niffler was somewhere on the ship, no doubt causing all manner of havoc, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel particularly bad. 

He’d stay where the shiny things were and the people in first class could deal with a little hands on charity work. He'd donate the majority of the pieces when they hit land.

A woman he didn’t recognize opened the door - she was lovely, with short dark hair and a wide, kind smile as she ushered him inside and promptly offered him a coffee, which was already pouring itself in the corner before he had a chance to say he’d prefer tea.

“He’s English, Goldstein,” Penelope said, exiting the small bathroom with damp hair, and a - a pair of trousers and a loose fitting undershirt, “Tea for Mr. Scamander.” 

“Hot leaf water,” a red haired, freckled man with a light Irish accent grumbled as he took the already poured coffee and downed it in one go, “Anthony O’Brien,” he said a moment later, extending a hand for Newt to shake, “Pleased as punch to meet you, Newt.”

Newt was rooted to the spot. He’d never done well with new people - Penelope being the exception possibly because she’d introduced herself by preventing his suicide, possibly because he was more than a little besotted with her. Either way. This was a lot.

“He’s shy,” Penelope mumbled, knocking the man out of the way with her hip and settling her cool hands on both of Newt’s cheeks, “I’m sorry,” she said, “but there was no other option.”

No - “What do you mean?” He managed to get out with only minor stuttering as all of the blood in his body rushed to his face, “No other option for… what?”

Goldstein’s face appeared next to Penelope’s in Newt’s field of vision and smiled warmly, “How about you get changed and then we’ll explain?”

“Changed?” He hadn’t brought anything to change into. He was still in the dress he’d worn to dinner.

“Oi, what did you nick my clothes for boss, if you weren’t gonna give them to the kid?” O’Brien asked, his pitch rising in his outrage, and for the first time, Newt saw Penelope flustered.

“I didn’t have a chance, okay?” She raked a hand through her hair, making the air in their little bubble smell of roses and honey, and smiled a little nervously at Newt as she summoned her clutch to her with a wave of her hand. 

It left Newt a little breathless - he’d always thought wandless magic was incredible. 

The next second there was a soft shirt and a pair of pants that would definitely be too long on him being settled into his arms and he was being steered into the bathroom Penelope had just vacated.

It was still a little steamy and the rose-honey smell was stronger in there, almost overwhelming, and Newt spun so quickly he nearly smashed his nose into Penelope’s forehead, “I-” he started, “pants?”

She looked stricken, “Was it too bold of me?” She asked, “I just… I thought you’d be more comfortable, but if I assumed…” she broke off, mumbling something about  _ the goddamn twentieth century.  _

“No!” Newt hastened to assure her, all too aware of Goldstein and O’Brien actively trying to make themselves scarce. He clutched the clothes to his chest, “I… thank you. I don’t have any with me in my luggage and I… I am very tired of dresses.”

The smile he got in response was worth all of the tea in China, and Penelope leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek, “I figured,” she said, “I’ve only been wearing them for two days and  _ I’m  _ tired of them.”

Before he had half a chance to wonder what she meant, the door was shut and he was left alone, expected to be changing into O’Brien’s clothes. Instead he just settled Pickett and the occamy chick on the counter and stared at himself through the film on the mirror.

He looked flushed - the makeup on his lips had faded but not wiped completely off, his hair was in disarray. One of the straps of his dress had fallen down his shoulder, revealing pale skin and too, too many freckles. 

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he let the silk hit the floor. Then the corset -untied with the help of his magic. O’Briens clothes were too big, but Newt didn’t mind. It helped hide his willowy figure and for the millionth time in his life he was glad that he’d never been ‘blessed’ with ample hips and a large chest. 

When he left the bathroom a few minutes later, face washed and hair let down to fall around his shoulders (much to his creatures’ delight) he almost felt like the Newt he saw himself as in his head.

Penelope was hunched over a file with Goldstein and O’Brien, waving one hand as she spoke in hushed tones that had the other two watching her with rapt attention. 

“I remember reading about this,” she said, “it hits the iceberg at 11:40. It takes almost three hours to sink - which means one of us need to break into the-” she looked up suddenly at Newt’s sharp gasp of air and stood immediately.

“Madam Director,” Goldstein asked cautiously, not moving, “this was your idea.”

“I know,” Penelope answered immediately, “I know. I just… Newt, we need to talk.”

They talked.

Penelope Amalthea Graves. Born 1978. Current sitting Director of Magical Security of MACUSA in the year  _ 2017 _ . 

Newt was going to faint. 

“Dark wizards infected my aurors with Mrs. Upkey’s potion,” Penelope said, professional, sitting nearly a foot away from Newt, giving him all the space he needed while she spoke, “the notebook we found was missing the antidote and we were running out of time, we…” she winced, looking away, “We came back in time to ask her what it was.”

“But she doesn’t know it.” Newt interrupted, “You came back too far, she-”

“She dies,” Goldstein - Porpentina Esther ‘Tina’ Goldstein, born in 1992 - said bluntly when it didn’t seem like Penelope could speak any longer, “Newt, she dies tomorrow night when the ship hits an iceberg and it sinks.”

“She-” Newt couldn’t breathe, “the ship is unsinkable…” he whispered weakly, a conversation with Mr. Andrews coming to the forefront of his mind. A conversation when he admitted that there weren’t enough lifeboats on the ship by half for  _ exactly  _ that reason. There were wards around it, it had been made magically unsinkable, the lifeboats they did have were just for the benefit of the muggles.

It was O’Brien -Anthony Michael O’Brien, 1990- who shook his head, “We’ve been trying to figure that out ourselves,” he admitted. “We can all feel the wards around the ship, no ice would be able to pierce even the first layer.”

“Not to mention,” Tina piped up, “that the magical folk on board could just apparate somewhere safe. Or levitate. Transfigure more boats.”

“No one should have died,” Penelope spoke up softly, “but they did. Over fifteen-hundred people died. Die. They die in twenty four hours unless we manage to figure this out.”

“Do…” Newt swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, “do I die?” He asked.

No one was that cruel, he thought. To stop him from going out on his own terms, only to let him die again a few days later. Why would Penelope rescue him just to make him love her and then  _ let him die _ .

“You-” Tina stopped.

“We don’t know,” O’Brien said, “we know that your fiance - that Grindelwald - manages to survive. But we know that because he goes on a bit of a murderous rampage in the twenties so-”

“Wait, he  _ what _ ?” Too much information. Too much.  _ Too much _ . 

“Enough,” Penelope snapped, then she was right there, in his space, combing his hair back from his forehead, “this is a lot, Newt. We know that.”

Yeah, no kidding. He was marked for death, the ship was going to sink, everyone was going to  _ die  _ in the freezing cold waters Penelope had saved him from that suddenly looked far less appealing when an alternative was soft hands on his face. 

They were from - from the  _ future _ only there because Hydrangea had information. They-

“You weren’t going to save the ship before,” he realized out loud, trying not to sound betrayed and failing, “until you found out that Hydrangea needed more time you were just going to let us all die.” She was going to let  _ him  _ die.

“Meddling in time is forbidden, Newt,” Penelope whispered, “you know that.”

“Then why… why spend time with me, at all?” Newt stood, pressing himself against the farthest wall, his hands fisted into his borrowed pants, “Why make me care when I’ll just  _ lose  _ you in twenty-four hours?” Was it just a game to her? Was this what people from the future did? Play with people’s feelings?

Sure, the people in his time were horrible but at least they were upfront about it. He’d known from the start that Gellert didn’t care about him beyond his face and his blood but he’d thought… he’d thought Penelope had…

“Newt,” Penelope was pleading, standing, “Newt, I couldn’t not spend time with you, don’t you see that? You’re so… you’re so kind, and brilliant, and wonderful. I could tell that as soon as I saw you and all I could do was watch as you climbed over that railing, and I wasn’t going to do anything, Newt. It wasn’t my place, it’s not my time. But I couldn’t let… you’re so wonderful I had to see you.” 

“So you were selfish?” Newt snapped, tears stinging his eyes, “If you hadn’t interfered I would be  _ dead  _ already, on my own terms. I would be at the bottom of the ocean away from-” all of this.  _ You _ .

“Once I saw you,” Penelope whispered, and for once it was her not meeting Newt’s eyes, “I had to know you. And once I knew you I… I couldn’t let go, Newt.” She shook her head, “You’re right, I was selfish. I was so, so selfish. But you’re also wrong I… I wasn’t going to let the ship sink. Not once I’d met you.”

Hesitantly, Newt took a step forward, “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t let you die, Newt,” dark eyes were misty when they met Newt’s green, “Fuck, I… you have to have a future. Even if I’m not in it which… I’m a hundred years younger than you, I won’t be in it. But you have so much to offer the world.”

“I could… I could offer you-”

“Newt-” Penelope spoke like her heart was breaking, “We can’t-”

What they couldn’t do, Newt would never know. His lips closed over the words before they could be spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget you can find me on tumblr right here!! [here!](http://elevendamerons.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> currently taking bff applications bc hahah mine dumped me holla

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget you can find me on tumblr right here!! [here!](http://elevendamerons.tumblr.com/)


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